


Tied in Knots

by pprfaith



Series: Naughty Hookers (Swathed in Wool) [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: ALL OF IT, ALL THE FLUFF, Alcohol, Crack, Crochet, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Halloween, Happy Family, Humor, I won't pretend otherwise, Knitting, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Piercings, Ridiculous, Schmoop, Tattoos, This isn't even close to edited, Weddings, craft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 23:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17497112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pprfaith/pseuds/pprfaith
Summary: Peter and Stiles, getting married in twenty-seven dignified, slow and elegant vignettes.(Yeah, no, just kidding. It's a mess.)





	Tied in Knots

**Author's Note:**

> One, this fandom has conditioned me to never think of the word 'knot' without chortling ever again.
> 
> Two, this isn't even close to edited, but it was either post today or sometime next week, maybe. If you find any really obnoxious typos, let me know.
> 
> Three, the mystery of Peter's tattoo revealed! Yay!
> 
> Four, this is crack and I have no excuses. Procced at your own risk.

+

1

Stiles wants a summer wedding. Peter just wants to put a ring on it. 

“Halloween,” Laura drawls, squishing between them on the sofa like her bedtime wasn’t thirty minutes ago, a stack of print-outs in hand. “You’re getting married on Halloween.”

She pauses, turns to her uncle, “It’s in four months, that’s pretty soon.” To Stiles, “Think of the craft opportunities.”

They’re getting married on Halloween.

(They’re also raising a future criminal mastermind, but they’ll worry about that later.)

+

2

Leaning over the sink, Stiles stares at himself in the mirror, brows furrowed. Peter, freshly out of the shower, tugs on sleep pants over miles and miles of deliciously damp, tan skin and then leans against his back. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks, because Stiles is not prone to thoughtful staring in the mirror. Hell, most days, he even does his ridiculous hairdo without a mirror, just slathers on the gel, runs his hands through a few times and calls it good. Cora has been known to help.

Peter despairs of his fiancé. He really does. 

In response, Stiles presses his tongue against the inside of his lower lip, making the ring there dance, catching the light. 

After a moment he stops, sucking the metal into his mouth instead, chewing on his lip. 

“I think,” he mutters after a long minute, “it’s probably time to take this out, isn’t it? I mean, you’re making an honest man out of me and I’m gonna be a quasi-dad and I’m over thirty. It’s time, right?”

He sounds sad. 

Pete presses a kiss up against his temple and murmurs, “That’s entirely up to you,” as he tugs his partner out of the bathroom and into bed. 

Cora went down an hour ago. That means they have at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep ahead of them. No time to waste. 

+

3

“No, Stiles, you are absolutely not wearing a wedding gown. With your skin tone, you’re going to look like a long-term care patient in white!”

“But Lyds-“

“No.”

+

4

There is a long moment of silence on the other end of the line. “That’s…. that’s amazing, son. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Am I… do you want me there?”

Stiles wants… he wants _a_ father there, if he’s being honest. He wants the idea of the person who raised him giving him away into the rest of his life. He doesn’t much want the drama that comes with all of _his_ father.

His immediate reaction to that thought is to flinch before he remembers Isaac’s long, earnest preaching about how he gets to feel whatever he feels without shame, because if it’s there, it’s real and if it’s real, it deserves to be heard. 

But also, “We’re doing a little adoption ceremony thing for the kids, too. They want you there.”

A long, slow exhale. “Thank you, Stiles.”

“I’m going to be their dad, dad,” he answers, knows he sounds a little incredulous about that, still. “Gotta put them first, right?”

It’s not meant as a dig, even if that’s probably how it registers. “Of course. Call me if you need or want me to help in any way.”

+

5

“Can I…. help?” Derek asks, face buried in the small of Peter’s back where he’s trying to make enough pancakes to feed the entire brood before they all starve. 

“You want to help with the pancakes?” Peter asks, surprised. Derek and the stove _do not_ get along. They like spitting at each other. Literally. Laura has video proof on her phone. 

He feels a headshake against his butt. Small hands find their way into the front pockets of his jeans and hold on and Peter realizes – oh dear. Derek is having an emotion. 

“The wedding,” he finally mumbles.

Peter turns the heat to low and frees up one hand to reach around and tug until he can make eye contact around his elbow. “Well, since Laura and Paige are going to be flower girls and Cora is going to be our official people-tripper, I thought you might do us the honor of being ring bearer. Is that alright with you?”

Derek’s grin is incandescent. 

+

6

“No, Stiles, you can’t wear a white tux either. First of all because this isn’t Miami and secondly because _no white_.”

“But I am, technically, a virgin, you know.”

“Since I was the closest you ever got to losing that status, yes, Stiles, I know. Now go and google the history of white wedding gowns. It’s got nothing to do with virginity, that’s just the patriarchy trying to keep us down.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

+

7

Scott leans back in his seat, one of Cora’s dolls diapered lopsidedly on the table in front of him. He squints. “This is hard.”

“Wait until they squirm and screech,” Erica recommends, chomping down on a fistful of nachos next to him. She turns to Stiles. “So, Halloween wedding. Does that mean it’s a costume thing?”

Stiles freezes, wide-eyed.

+

8

Peter is going to murder Erica Reyes. And he’s not even going to be subtle about it, because if he’s in jail, he won’t have to get married at a _costume party_. 

+

9

“Be honest, Peter,” Helen demands, refilling his wine glass with a chuckle, “secretly, you like the madness.”

“Yeah, boss,” Amy chimes in, leaning back into the sofa, wiggling her bare toes into the carpet, wine glass firmly in hand. “You wouldn’t be marrying him otherwise.”

True.

Peter downs his glass and holds it out for a refill. 

+

10

Peter passes the invitations for his stag night to Kali and Ennis with an air of gravitas. “Bring a change of clothes and be sure to eat a lot first. I have no idea what they have planned.”

Ennis looks a little deer-in-headlights. Kali cackles. 

+

11

All five of the children are lined up in Lydia’s living room like organ pipes, little Alli to Laura.

The babies are in orange tights and dresses, Derek in a charcoal tux with an orange tie and Paige and Laura in matching charcoal dresses with orange sashes. 

With Erica’s skills, their skull make-up will make them look positively eerie. For their hair, Lydia decides, they’re going to go full-on Addams family. 

Because while a small part of her may want to join Peter in weeping into his wine over a costume Halloween party wedding, the larger part of her is fiercely determined to give Stiles the most amazing wedding he could ever possibly have and she is fully aware that includes at least fifty percent completely random insanity. 

She nods, finished with her perusal, and the children immediately scatter to go and take of their clothes. She’s made it very clear what cruel fate will befall them if they stain them before the great day.

That done, she turns back to her organizer. Lilies. White, with a few orange ones as accents. Dark grey ribbons. Those are going to be a pain. Honestly, a Christmas wedding wouldn’t have been any tackier and the color scheme would have been so much easier. 

The things she does for Stiles. Honestly.

+

12

There is a large flat box in the mail in early September. Inside is a wedding dress in the most awful eighties style with gorgeous lace work and beading along the bodice and hem. 

Stiles remembers it only from photographs, long since yellowed in the hallways of his childhood. 

There is a note pinned to the champagne colored polyester blend. _Something old. Do with it what you want. Your mom would want you to. Love, Dad._

+

13

Alli frowns intensely at the screen. Since Stiles and Peter have decided on only one best (wo)man a piece, she can wear pretty much whatever she wants. And what she wants is the high-end Morticia Addams style gown for almost five hundred dollars.

She bites her lip. That’s a hell of a lot of money. 

But it’s also the only version she’s found that doesn’t come out of a plastic bag for twenty bucks a pop. 

Oh, screw it. She’ll just have to wear it for the next ten Halloweens. 

+

14

Isaac rubs at his forehead. He’s been talking things through with the minister who’s going to marry Stiles and Peter for a past hour. The man is surprisingly cool with all the weirdness that comes with the Stilinski-Hale clan, and even the costume part didn’t put him off. 

But he’s frowning now at the documents Issac just put in front of him. “Those are fake,” he comments, after looking them over for a moment.

“I know,” Isaac allows. He spent almost three hours with Boyd and a pirated Photoshop copy to make them. At first glance they look official, but the headline says _super official adoption document_ , _cleaning up your room_ is mentioned   
twice in the agreement and there is a signature line for the kid in question. 

“Obviously. But we wanted the kids to have something to sign, too. The real paperwork is already going through. Are you willing to work that into the ceremony?”

The man gives a little snort, but he nods. The look on his face says he’s had more outlandish requests before and fielded those too. And, for all the weirdness, Isaac figures, this whole thing is actually weirdly wholesome.

+

15

“I’m a lawyer,” Peter declares, gesturing with his glass precariously. Helen deftly plucks it out of his hand and passes it to Amy, who cackles and tops it up. More wine. Good. 

“Words are literally my bread and butter. Why are wedding vows so _hard_?”

“Poor baby.” His glass rematerializes in his hand, now significantly fuller. “Words and feelings and stuff.”

He squints at his cheeky employee’s gleeful expression. “You should do it for me,” he decides. “I pay you to do stuff for me.”

“Okay,” Helen announces, picking up the wine bottle and stuffing the cork back into the neck. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Peter clutches his glass close and scowls.

+

16

Stiles fights down a wince and tries to subtly reposition himself so his arm doesn’t fall off and knock out Erica on the way down. He movement earns him a slap to his stomach before Boyd helpfully moves his little wheely-chair around so he can grab Stiles’ arm and take a little of the strain off it. 

“Only you,” he remarks, “would get a tattoo as ‘something new’ for your own wedding.”

Stiles glares ineffectively up. He’d poke the bigger man, but if he moves again, Erica is going to hit him for real. “Well, I wouldn’t need ‘something new’ if it were someone else’s wedding, would I? Oh, also, remember-“

“This is a secret, Peter isn’t to know about it. Yes. We got that the first seven times you mentioned it.”

He sticks out his tongue this time. Erica whacks him again.

+

17

He turns pieces of the skirt into pocket squares and hair bows, enough for everyone in the wedding. 

For a few days he considers dying them to match the theme, but in the end, he leaves them just as they are, off white and aged. It’s the only thing he has of his mom’s. He’s not going to change it more than he has to. 

+

18

Stiles never really figured he’d get married. Ever. Because people like him, damaged and terrified of sex, too close and too far away by turns, don’t get married. 

Sometimes, in his better moments, he imagined a small thing, signing a few papers, maybe having cake afterwards. Something practical and pragmatic.

What he gets now, instead is… terrifying and amazing and all the things he never knew he wanted (never actually wanted) until Peter gave them to him. 

It’s not traditional, not in any sense of the word, starting with the fact that they’re both the same gender and not nearly ending with _costume party_ , but there are a few things Stiles wants to do the old-fashioned way. 

“Old, new, borrowed, blue,” he tells his fiancé – fiancé! – when they first discuss it, “rings and cake and all our friends and family and shitty eighties music and that. Can we do that?”

Because Stiles never figured he’d get married, but now that he is, he kind of wants to scream his joy to the heavens. He wants to do it right. 

And he remembers his parents’ wedding album, one he looked at for years and years after his mom was gone, because she was beautiful in them and radiant and sane and his dad was so young. He remembers that album and one careful spread of text, pictures and items. A pair of earrings (old), a garter (new), a picture of a necklace (borrowed) and a hairpin, covered over in over in satin forgetmenots (blue). 

It’s become, through decades worth of percolating and twisting in his mind, the epitome of a ‘proper’ wedding for him.

And that’s exactly what he wants with Peter, god save him. 

+

19

“Peter,” Lydia says, stern, lips pursed, her wedding organizer pressed to her chest not like a shield but like something she is going to hurl at him in less than three seconds. “I know the fact that I’m doing all the actual planning has freed you up from having to make a decision early on, but if you do not choose a best man in the next sixty seconds, I am going to rent you one off of craigslist.”

She’s not even kidding, is the thing. Orange for an accent color, only four months to plan, grease paint and _Stiles_ she can weather with a hairflip and a prim comment, but apparently this is where she draws the line. 

Peter needs to choose. And he has no idea who. 

In the end, he blurts the first name that comes to mind. “Isaac!”

Lydia nods, satisfied and immediately starts taking notes while Peter realizes, with slow dawning horror, that that means Isaac is now in charge of his bachelor party.

+

20

Gendering is stupid, so Isaac and Alli stick their heads together (amongst other body parts) and come up with a different system. The rowdier crowd goes with Peter, the homier one with Stiles. 

The kids get their very own ~~victim~~ sitter for the night, a friend of Liam and Mason’s, vetted by the former Sheriff himself, via the new Sheriff, because pretty much everyone they know is going to be busy getting wasted.

Boyd goes to Stiles, Erica to Peter. Helen to Stiles, Amy to Peter. Jenny goes to Peter because Isaac does and they keep going that way until they’re all the way to the bottom. 

Then they plan. While Isaac googles concerts and other events in the time bracket they’ve set, Allison goes on amazon and starts filling her cart with tequila. 

+

21

When the doorbell rings at nine am on a Saturday, Jennifer winces, frowns and then rolls to her feet. If it’s Amy invading with breakfast again, they’re going to have words about how to read a clock and appropriate times to wake a teacher on her day off. 

It’s Laura. And Derek. They have Cora corralled between them like a snapping beast, clutching her hood and belt loops, respectively. 

“Is everything alright?”

Laura looks over her shoulder furtively and pushs her siblings forward. “Yes. Can we come in? We told them we were going to go see if the Tanner kids are out yet. They can’t see us.”

Jennifer thinks, through the early morning haze, that it’s adorable that even twelve-year-old Laura hasn’t figured out that at least one of their parental units is standing by the window, watching them, every single time they wander off to see friends on their own. 

Also, the fact that they brought Cora was pretty much a dead give-away, she figures. 

“Coffee,” she grumbles, anyway, and lets them inside. Because this is her life now. She leads the way to the kitchen and they follow, clambering up onto the stools without asking, forming a row of earnest, tiny faces across from her. 

“What can I do for you three?”

“We need presents.”

“For whom?”

“Peter and Stiles.”

“Peter Da, Daddy,” Cora agrees and Jennifer has no idea if that’s one word or two. Three? Apparently, Cora and grammar don’t really get along, yet. 

“For the ceremony?” she asks, something like a picture forming. 

All three of them nod hard. 

“And you want my help?”

More nods. Cora lunges for the notepad in the middle of the island and starts scribbling all over it. Once Laura sees Jennifer’s non-reaction, she motions for Derek to leave her be and Jennifer is reminded, not for the first time, of the psychology books she read, back in college, dealing with trauma in children. They mentioned, all and one, that siblings often clung to each other after traumatizing events, to the point of unreasonable codependence that went against natural child development. She thought it incredibly sad, lost, damaged children, huddling together.

Seeing the three Hale children she realizes, time and again, how wrong she was. Because, oh, like Stiles warned her not too long ago, everyone in that family knows from grief, but even if their clinging might have once had a desperate edge to it, now they’re a solid, steel-forged unit of love and devotion and care and they amaze her, pre-teen to toddler.

So there’s really only one possible way for her to react to their unspoken request. “What’s your budget and what do you want?”

Derek beams at her, front teeth missing, “T-shirts,” he proclaims. 

Fifteen minutes later, Jennifer rings the doorbell of the Stilinski-Hale household and announces to an amused looking Stiles, “I’m taking your children shopping. May I borrow their car seats?”

Stiles just laughs and wishes them a good time, shoving a twenty for lunch at her and ignoring the way her eyes go maybe a little bit damp at _being allowed to do this_. 

They get the t-shirts. Then they get an early ice-cream lunch on Stiles’ dime. 

+

22

In the end, Stiles’ bachelor night ends with the world’s ugliest granny square blanket, every guest made to contribute a square, no matter how many thumbs they have. 

It’s assembled in sloppy, neon yellow stitches, because by the time they get that far, most of the tequila is gone and they have broken into the vodka while some ridiculous Katherine Heigl romcom is on in the background, for everyone to loudly mock and shriek at. 

Kali, who has only ever met Lydia and Stiles, and that only in passing, seems vaguely concussed by the whole thing, but happily takes one of Stiles’ business cards anyway. 

“I’m going to make one of those,” she points at the blanket on Stiles’ lap, glass tilting dangerously, “in neon colors. And cheap yarn. And I’m going to give it to my husband for Christmas.” She cackles. 

“He’ll _hate it_!!!” she howls gleefully and downs the last of her drink before stumbling off in search for a refill. 

+

23

Peter’s on the other hand, ends with a lifetime ban from two bars and a strip club, an unfortunate incident at the local zoo and no-one in the drunk tank. 

Barely.

Erica loses her phone around two am so there are no pictures of any of it, which is just as well and saves Peter the cost of having to hire an assassin.

“Best bachelor party ever, admit it!” Isaac crows. 

Peter, perched on a barstool in a rapidly emptying bar, trying to find a non-sticky piece of counter to lay his head on, makes a meh-sound. “I haven’t been this drunk in all my thirty-nine years of life. Ever. At all.”

“Don’t know, boss,” comes Amy’s cheery comment from where she’s trying to chat up the tired strippers divvying up the tips, “Some of your whine sessions at Helen’s came pretty close.”

“Silence, minion!” He waves his sparkly wand at her, then stares at it, frowning. When did he – 

Never mind. “In any case, I can’t feel my ribcage anymore,” he adds, claps a hand over the sore spot and immediately cringes because goddamn it, tattoos hurt. 

For some reason, that sets off Erica, who howls into Ennis’ shoulder until even the strippers look worried. 

+

24

Judicious planning (and a forty-eight hours grace period to sober up) has everyone well-rested and coherent on the actual day. 

The children wear their perfect clothes with perfect make-up, fixed in place with so much sealant, it will take a boar bristle brush to get them clean again.

Stiles is radiant in his tux, as is Peter, who is very glad that he drew the line at getting married _in costume_ when he sees Scott lumber in in full Frankenstein’s Monster make-up.

Lydia has had about seven cups of coffee and made three caterers cry, but she also wears the glow of someone very satisfied with their work. Allison is stunning as Morticia Addams and Isaac’s matching Gomez Addams makes the kind of sense you can only find at a Halloween themed costume wedding.

Ennis is eying everything like he thought Peter might have been joking about it, Kali is cackling again and John and Melissa make their way over to them to take them under their wings, forming what is probably the only island of sanity in this entire thing. 

Suddenly, at his side, Stiles makes a terrible choking lama noise, “Something blue!”

He turns to Peter. “You promised me something blue! Where is it?!”

He has the old tucked into his chest pocket, and the borrowed cufflinks on his wrists. 

“You’re also missing something new,” Peter points out, reasonably.

“It’s the tux,” he lies, and badly, too. Peter raises an eyebrow. “That is just a bad way to start a marriage, darling. Lie better or tell the truth.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I have something new, it’s a secret. Blue! Gimme!”

Peter raises the other eyebrow.

“Please?”

“Derek!”

Derek comes scampering into the dressing room with an eager grin on his face. Along with his skull make-up, it makes him look eerie. The gap in his teeth enhances the effect. 

“Now?” he asks, already digging through his pockets.

“Now,” Peter confirms. 

Derek produces a little velvet drawstring bag and passes it to Peter, who passes it on. 

Stiles opens it and, heathen that he is, shakes the contents into his palm.

Then he blinks. 

“Wear it, if you want,” Peter tells him, taking his free hand, squeezing, “or don’t. But never think you have to change a single fucking thing about who you are for me, or the kids, or anyone.”

Stiles blinks again, at Peter, at Derek, then at the neon blue labret piercing in his hand. He took out his lip ring three days ago and has been trying not to look sad about it ever since.

Then he yanks his hand free, lunges forward to kiss Peter (which feels weirdly soft without metal getting in the way) and then runs off with a hollered, “Need a mirror!”

Derek solemnly offers his hand for a high five. Peter gives it to him. 

Half an hour later, Stiles walks down the aisle with a neon blue dot glinting just below his lower lip, grinning like an idiot. 

+

25

The wedding ends like this:

Everyone pretty much cries at least once, eats too much cake and dances barefoot to shitty eighties music. Paige throws up once from all the candy, Cora twice. 

Allison hooks up with one of the colleagues Peter couldn’t get out of inviting and Stiles’ vows make Bobby laugh so hard he falls off his chair. Peter’s, on the other hand, make Helen and Erica both tear up. 

The adoption ceremony goes a little sideways when Cora insists on having a fit of temper and taking off her dress in the middle of it, but in the end, it goes over in typical family tradition, with a bit of shouting, some unexpected nudity and a lot of happy hugging. 

The rings, which Derek _does not lose_ are plain platinum bands, with Gallifreyan writing inside, because Stiles is not the only nerd in this family.

Jennifer catches the bouquet Stiles insisted on for the express purpose of throwing it and Amy kisses her with it squished between them. 

The t-shirts come in a big package with lurid gift wrap. The kids’ all have their names on the front and _If found, please return to_ on the back. Cora’s has _Peter Da and Daddy_ , the other two’s _Peter and Stiles_.

Peter’s and Stiles’ have their names on them, with their Cora-related titles in brackets and a _Proud owner of Laura, Derek and Cora_ on the back. 

They all wear them within thirty seconds of unwrapping them and keep them on for all the official pictures. 

+

26

“So,” Peter whispers, twelve hours later, after they’ve sent everyone home, abandoned the kids to Erica and Boyd and made their way to their hotel suite, “what _is_ the something new?”

Stiles grins, winks, and then, without fanfare, pulls off the pieces of his suit he’s still wearing, as well as the t-shirt. 

(It has the word ‘Dad’ on it, he can’t stop grinning.)

There, on his chest, below the bird of paradise, a single line in elegant cursive curls along his ribs. 

_it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant_ , it says, and he blushes immediately. 

“I know it’s cheesy and everything, but I also know you secretly love ee cummings and I now probably share a tattoo with half the love-sick idiots on this planet, but it’s true. You are…,” he pauses, words failing, a little drunk and overly emotional, licks his lips and starts again. “Peter, you’re everything. You’re my best friend, although, don’t tell Alli or Scott, and you’re my… my husband, and my confidant and my rock and I-“

He tails off, helplessly, as Peter yanks his own shirt out of his pants and twists sideways so Stiles can see - 

“It seems,” he drawls pointedly, into the silence after Stiles swallows his tongue, “that we’re idiots who think along the same lines and also, that no-one should ever play poker against Erica.”

The little wench tattooed them both and didn’t even _hint_. 

Stiles steps forward, hand rising helplessly to trace along the anatomically correct greyscale rendering of a heart, sitting high on the left side of Peter’s ribcage, not quite healed but already perfect. 

He seems honestly too stunned for words.

Peter drops his shirt, grabs his – his _husband’s_ \- hand and squeezes. “I carry your heart,” he whispers and then Stiles flings himself at him, face pressing into his neck, arms going around him to hold on tightly, so tightly, and whispers back, “I carry it in my heart.”

And it’s cheesy and ridiculous and wonderful and it’s the first day of the rest of their lives and Peter wraps his arms around Stiles in return and they just hold on for a while. 

+

27

Ennis does hate the blanket. It’s fantastic. 

+

+


End file.
